


tried to be a saint like everybody else

by brophigenia



Series: k does the dreampack [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Prokopenko's Death, Recreational Drug Use, guided masturbation, kinda d/s, mentions of disordered eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: Out of all of them, Jiang is the one who needs him least. Jiang could rule the Vancouver crew, could set up his own business and run K and his dream drugs out of town, could leave in the middle of the night and never speak to K again and befineover it. Jiang doesn’t need him. That’s why it’s easy to be around him.[Jiang and K in an abandoned field.]





	tried to be a saint like everybody else

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, what a pile of trash. My domain.

Out of all of them, Jiang is the one who needs him least. Jiang could rule the Vancouver crew, could set up his own business and run K and his dream drugs out of town, could leave in the middle of the night and never speak to K again and be _fine_ over it. Jiang doesn’t need him. That’s why it’s easy to be around him.

That’s why K needs _Jiang_ maybe more than any of the others, his coolest-eyed disciple. Jiang isn’t afraid of K’s temper, isn’t affected by his threats, says what he thinks about K’s more harebrained ideas and shrugs when K snarls abuse at him, apathetic to the outcome. Jiang can snort more lines than anybody K knows but doesn’t need _that_ either, is perfectly fucking fine existing on raw food and water, studying and going to the gym and _living._ The world doesn’t scare Jiang.

(The world scares K to _death.)_

Jiang picks him up from his house in the middle of the night. He’d sent _come get me_ and then Jiang had appeared, as put-together at 2 am as he was at any other given time of the day, like he didn’t ever sleep. Jiang didn’t comment as they drove, didn’t comment when he had to pull over so K could empty the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk in front of some church, rolling his eyes up to look at the neon-flashing cross above the door as he retched up bile and liquor and the three carrot sticks he’d managed to get down earlier. He fucking _despised_ eating.

Jiang drives them out to the furthest reaches of Henrietta, where the only light for miles is the Supra’s headlights. K stumbles out and curls his ankle in a snakehole and walks until he’s entirely shrouded by the dark.

Then he screams, bellows, curls his hands into fists and wishes for something to _pummel._ He can feel it in his blood, hear it rushing in his fucking ears. He’s something _other_ trapped in a boy’s body and every one of his cells is screaming to be let free. He wants to die. He wants to _dream._ He wants to keep screaming until his vocal chords are shredded to ribbons.

It’s a near thing, when he _does_ stop, and then he just slumps back to the car, back to where Jiang is leaning expressionless against the driver’s side door, legs long and casually crossed at the ankle.

“Have you ever considered taking up yoga?” He asks conversationally, when K all but collapses up against the side of the car next to him. He’s not expecting a response. It’s to bring K back to his body, back to a point where Jiang can take him home and leave him there without being concerned he might commit homicide or arson or some other felony that would result in police response. K swallows thickly and closes his eyes so he won’t have to look up at the stars. He hates looking at the vastness of the sky at night, hates the panic that crawls up his throat when he remembers that he is an insect, no matter that everyone else is even _more_ ordinary than he is.

“Breathe in and out six times for me,” Jiang tells him in that same impassive voice, stepping closer until their arms are pressed together. K does it, breathing noisily through his nose because he knows that’s what Jiang wants. It’s harder to hyperventilate through your nose. “Good. Have you slept in the last day?” He’s not looking for a verbal answer, so K shakes his head. He’s not slept for two days, hands shaking with it and nose raw from all the blow. Even the finest dream shit gets abrasive after a few dozen bumps.

Jiang hums in light disapproval. “Touch yourself. Your neck, first.” So K does, brings trembling fingertips up to trace his jugular the way he likes, scraping with his gnawed-short nails just under his jaw until his thighs spasm with it. “Unbutton your pants.” He goes for the zipper too and hears Jiang hum, dissatisfied, so he stops. Waits. Waits for so long he’s almost shaking out of his skin with it, so hard in his jeans here in the dark with his eyes shut so tight he wonders if they’ll ever open again, and then Jiang speaks again. “Zipper.” It’s curt, but K can hear the little thread of lust in the other boy’s voice.

He lowers his zipper the rest of the way, metal teeth rasping loudly in the quiet night. He’s so hard. He feels like a fucking kid, _waiting_ and _untouched_ and _falling to pieces._

Jiang lights a cigarette; K turns his head just a bit so he can better breathe the secondhand smoke, opening his mouth hopefully. Jiang blows smoke down his throat obligingly, and it is the closest he’s gotten to touching K all night. “Put your hand in your pants. Touch your cock.” The way he says _cock_ is sharp, weaponized, all spiky consonants and the barely-there puff of the _O._

K wraps his hand around the base of his dick, grips himself so so so tight and twists his wrist on the upstroke, slow and torturous and exactly what Jiang wants to see. He doesn’t want to make Jiang have to mutter _slower._ He wants to be fucking perfect. He wants nothing to hurt. He wants.

He wants to fucking _come._ Jiang keeps muttering, a litany of cool filth. All _yes, that way_ and _you’re doing well_ and _good._ Commentary as much for himself as for K, because K can _hear_ him getting himself off, just rubbing his hand against the front of his jeans while his free hand holds his cigarette, and K waits, drawn tight like a bowstring up on his tiptoes, to be instructed to come.

(Or _not_ to come; Jiang has pulled that shit a couple of times, when he wants K to sit down and breathe until he’s soft so he can go all over again. Usually K has to have almost killed himself or someone else for that to happen.)

Jiang knows the signs; K hardly ever jerks himself off if Jiang isn’t the one calling the shots. If he wants to get his dick wet then he calls Proko or goes to find Skov or one of the hick girls always hanging around the gas station at ten o’clock on a school night. If he wants to get fucked he goes and finds Swan.

If he wants to jerk himself off, then there’s Jiang to help him do it _better._ To help _him_ be better.

Jiang doesn’t need this, but K does.

That’s why there’s such satisfaction in his chest every time Jiang comes from just _talking_ to him; Jiang may not _need_ him, but he _wants_ him, and that’s even better. K has enough people who need him for one reason or another. He doesn’t need to add Jiang to the list.

“Come, K.” Jiang says finally, and so he does, eyes fluttering with his lashes like mothwings against his cheekbones and balls achy with the release. It’s good. It’s always good.

He pours himself into the Supra’s passenger seat when he’s able to see again, curls his whole body up so his knees are to his chest and his head is resting on them, nothing but a pile of skin and bones in a ragged, stolen Thrasher hoodie that once belonged to a dead boy.

Jiang touches him then, fingers threaded through the top of his hair where it’s long, uncaring that it’s been days since it’s been washed. He keeps them there the whole drive back to the McMansion, a reassuring weight.

“Go to sleep, _jagiya.”_ Jiang says, and his hand tightens in K’s hair before he lets go. K goes into the house bleary-eyed, finally exhausted enough to let himself dream.

Jiang waits, watchful, until K is inside before he drives away.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
